


Call This a Plan

by Anonymous



Series: Snowy/Kent [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: D/s-verse, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Praise Kink, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 17:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14241942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's hot and summer and Snowy wants to sleep. Also for Kent to settle the hell down and go to sleep at a body-heat tolerable distance.Kent wants attention. And maybe for Snowy to appreciate the greatness of his cat.





	Call This a Plan

"So this cat," Snowy starts, after it walks across his head for the second time that night. "I'm guessing you want to keep her?" 

Kent chuckles, actually under the sheet because living in the desert has warped him, and reaches out to pet her, his fingers trailing down her spine. Gentle, even though she doesn't have the decency to extend the same consideration to them, and employs her claws whenever she thinks she might fall off a lap or lose her footing walking across Snowy as he lies on his side.

"I didn't want to leave her in Vegas," Kent says, as the cat turns towards him to solicit chin scratches. He obliges her until she comes close enough for Kent to scoop in and tuck under his chin, shoulders rounding as he cuddles her. "She's too famous."

He's an idiot. Snowy drapes an arm over his waist and brushes his fingertips down Kent's stomach, tickling into his bellybutton, then idly travelling lower, to the waistband of his shorts, and then back up again towards his ribs. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Kent's muscles twitch under his fingers, but Snowy can't tell if the laugh in his voice is at the teasing or at his own bullshit. He sort of has that second thing in common with Tater. "What if someone kidnaps her for ransom?" The cat squirms and Kent lets her go, rolling onto his back so he can stare at the ceiling for a little before rolling his head to the side to look at Snowy. "There's a petparazzi joke in there," he admits, frowning as the cat jumps to the floor with a thump and a little _mmrp_ , "but I'm saving it until I can make it work."

Great. Snowy grins anyway, because he remembers this about Kent, before. The stupid sense of humor, and the unrepentant pleasure at it. That had been a few years back, and usually when Kent was a bit drunk and hopped up on victory. And praise. Kent's not as big on ego inflation as some popular images insist, but he is eager to please, and when he succeeds, his shoulders relax and his eyes light up and he gets a little obnoxious. Confident and ridiculous and sometimes bratty with it. 

It's going to be a tough act to balance, Snowy thinks, amused and a little worried at the same time. He pats sleepily at Kent's hair, smiling at the cowlick that keeps bouncing back up, at an odd angle even to the sleep-ruffled mess of the rest of Kent's hair. "Do you think--?" he starts, then doesn't continue, but it prompts Kent to roll the rest of the way over and bury his face against Snowy's chest, throwing one arm over Snowy's hips when he tries to push at Kent's shoulders. "Ugh. Too hot, Parse."

"Yeah," Kent agrees, sounding pleased with himself. "You know it." Snowy shoves him again, then relents, but only because Kent's a restless sleeper and will roll away again pretty soon after he's out. Kent squirms in closer, sensing victory, but at least he kicks the sheets away.

He's pushing. Snowy knows he's pushing. But he's also being cute and charming about it, and that makes it harder to decide what to do about it. It's not even clear if Kent wants to be brought into line, or if he wants to enjoy being a pain in the ass without having to worry about repercussions. Still, Snowy should draw some line that will hold. That won't give under Kent's flirting and cat jokes and pouting.

Or not even that, but just--give him something to do, maybe. Nothing hard, because it's too hot and late for that anyway, but Kent's clearly angling for something, whether he's feeling out boundaries, looking for that line where he draws a consequence, or just looking for attention. 

"Hey," Snowy says, getting a hand in Kent's hair to pull him back, so he can look Kent in the face. It's not rough, but Kent winces anyway, in expectation, before he clears his expression into something open and--not blank, not questioning, but just receptive and waiting. Calm. He's beautiful and Snowy doesn't want to think about whether that's just how Kent reacts to orders or if he's been taught that response, but the thought comes into his head anyway. "Turn over," he says, before he can come up with mental images to put to the thought. "I want to do something."

Kent pushes up onto his elbows instead, looking down at Snowy in silence, his eyes dark in the dim light of the bedroom.

"It's okay," Snowy tells him, and gives him a nudge. Kent obediently drops and then flops around, getting oriented, letting Snowy guide him where he wants him, till he's on his side and facing away.

"Wow, you really don't like my cat," he jokes. Snowy doesn't laugh. He does wrap an arm around Kent's middle and use it to pull him close, tucking them together, ass to groin. Then he kisses the back of Kent's neck.

"Your hands go here," Snowy says, reaching over him to tap a spot on the bed, roughly in line with Kent's face. 

Kent doesn't do it until Snowy pulls back, brushing hair back from Kent's forehead as he does, and then Kent says, "Sure," in a weird, light tone, and moves both hands over, one and then the other, putting them together, then next to each other. Shifting them around awkwardly. Snowy had picked a spot where he wouldn't have to stretch, so his arms are relaxed, elbows bent in a natural position, but there's no restraint and nothing to hold on to, so it takes a little while for Kent to arrange himself, trying to figure out what feels right and what Snowy wants.

Snowy just wants them out of the way and where can he can see them, so he'll know if Kent tries anything clever when he reaches down, pushes Kent's boxers out of the way, and takes his cock in his hand. 

Kent inhales sharply, then swallows. He doesn't breathe again for a good couple seconds, but then the air shudders back out of him like he's been trying to hold it. "Snowy?" It's low but not a whisper. Uncertain. Kent's goofiness washed all the way out of it.

"It's okay," Snowy promises again, and gives him a stroke, fingers loose and light. "You're fine."

Kent swallows again, hard enough that Snowy can feel it where Kent's pressed up against him. He pulls him a little closer, tucking his cheek against Kent's head. His hair smells like shampoo and under that, of chlorine from Snowy's pool, from working out his knee earlier that afternoon. The sun's scattered even more freckles across his shoulders, but Kent kind of looks like summer all the time, with his tan and blond hair.

"You can say stop," Snowy tells him, low into his ear, because Kent knows that, but he's not so certain that Kent _believes_ it. He stops his hand, so that he's just holding Kent. "Or you can say 'go on'."

"Shit," Kent says instead, and squirms a little, either trying to get closer or get friction, or maybe just get himself settled.

"There's no wrong choice. If there was, I'd tell you."

More squirming, and then Kent says, "I want to move my hands."

"No."

A huff. "Fine," Kent decides, after a few more seconds. "Go on."

Probably, Snowy should do something about the attitude. Make Kent ask properly or something, because he sounds like he thinks he's the one calling the shots and offering Snowy permission. "Brat," he says instead, and rolls away far enough to pull open his nightstand drawer and rummage one handed in it for lube. He's jerked Kent off dry before, but he's not going for rough and desperate now, but something easy where all Kent has to do is let Snowy make him feel good.

The lube feels cool on Snowy's fingers, but Kent doesn't even twitch when they close around his dick again. Snowy can feel him relaxing, reassured by something, even if Snowy's not sure what. The tension in his shoulders is gone, melting away within two strokes, and maybe this was a bad position, putting Kent's back to his chest, because he'd love to watch Kent's face go through that same change. See the flat caution turn to soft, open mouthed pleasure, and enjoy the way Kent's eyes go bright but half-mast, like he's both extra aware and half gone at the same time.

He's hardening up in Snowy's hand, taking a little longer than Snowy had expected based on his silly energy from earlier. Maybe more tired than Snowy had realized, maybe nervous, or maybe Snowy's not doing this the way he likes. That's fine. He'll figure Kent out sooner or later, or Kent will tell him when he wants to. 

Kent's breathing picks up, back pressing into Snowy, close and hot, sweat beading on the back of his neck, along his hairline. He's fucking beautiful. A sweet damn sub, and Snowy can't imagine doing anything to him like--

He pulls away from the thought like a record scratch, blanking his mind of every news story he'd heard and overheard by accident, while trying to avoid them, casting through his thoughts for something else to focus on. Anything else. 

His brain lands on some song Kent had put on in the kitchen earlier. No lyrics, just the beat, stamped indelibly into Snowy's brain. Catchy in the most awful way, and it makes him laugh into Kent's hair, which gets him a breathy laugh back, Kent thinking that he's pleasing Snowy and happy with himself for it.

"Yeah," Snowy tells him, letting him think it, tightening his hand up a little and making Kent's hips jerk. "You're so good. Look at you being good for me."

Kent's breath hitches, almost like a small sob, but before Snowy can worry about it, it evens back out into regular quick breathing. 

"You like that?" Snowy asks, even though he knows Kent does. That Kent always had. "You like hearing how good you are?"

"Fuck," Kent says, voice harsh. "Oh god, fuck." His hand is gripping the sheet, fingers digging in and pulling it up, the other, palm-up, is holding onto his own wrist.

"Good job keeping your hands there," Snowy tells him, because Kent should know that he's noticed the obedience, and noticed how much effort Kent is making for it. Kent nods, eager or frantic, and Snowy moves his free hand up to Kent's hair to stop him before he accidentally bashes Snowy in the nose. "Get rid of your pants, Parse."

Kent tries to nod against Snowy's grip on his hair, hissing when it pulls, and then goes through an undignified process of wiggling the rest of the way out of his boxers while trying not to dislodge either of Snowy's hands. He ends up having to kick a few times to get them off an ankle, and then he stills. Snowy can feel him pulling again, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Alright," Snowy says, putting teasing congratulations into his voice. "Good fucking job."

"Go me," Kent mumbles back, but he sounds pleased. A little note of warmth in it that could be about Snowy or could just be Kent's response to success. He'd been like that when they'd won too, and when he knew he'd played well. Happy and playing it down, but wound up with it too, in some Parson way that made him seem bright and assured, his attempts at deflection doing nothing to mitigate it, but instead, somehow, making him seem more vulnerable. Like trying to cover made it even more obvious how much something was getting to him, and how easy it was to do it.

"I'm gonna," Snowy starts, then doesn't continue, but just lets go of Kent with his slick hand to spread lube and precome around, over his thighs. He gets a whine of protest before Kent realizes what he's doing and settles back down, fingers twisting the sheet up impatiently. "Easy," Snowy tells him. "Just chill the hell the out for a second, okay?"

It's delivered gently enough that Kent snorts at Snowy's own impatience, but he shuts up while Snowy arranges him and gets his own cock out and between Kent's thighs. He taps the outside of Kent's leg, urging him to keep them together and tight, then thrusts experimentally through them, before getting his hand back on Kent's cock. "Okay?" he asks.

Kent seems to think about that, shifting a little like he's considering how it feels when Snowy moves. "Yeah," he decides, sounding surprisingly muzzy. Snowy's not sure what that's about, because just a minute ago he'd sounded miles away from subspace. 

"Kent? What's going on?"

He gets an unclear mumble, and then, like Kent's pulled himself together to ask it, "Do I get to come?"

Snowy laughs. He shouldn't, because the way Kent asks it, like an honest, obvious question might mean there's something hiding in it. Some reason he thinks he has to make sure to ask, or thinks he might not get to, but it also makes him sound earnest in a way that Kent usually doesn't. Or seems to avoid, at least, a lot of the time. 

"Do you want to?" Snowy asks anyway, instead of giving immediate permission. Playing with Kent, a little. "You think I should let you?"

Kent swears and whines, but he stays where he is and keeps his thighs tight together for Snowy. He's so hard in Snowy's hand, it's kind of a surprise he hasn't come already, but it still takes a while before he nods. Long enough that Snowy's not even sure he's still answering the question until he adds, "Let me," in a strained, pleading voice.

It's tempting to tease him when he sounds like that, but it would also be mean. Maybe too mean. Snowy kisses the back of his neck again, and tells him, "Okay. Go ahead," and then, "Good, Kent. Look at you, god," when Kent pushes into his hand, arching against him, and comes over his hand. Snowy wipes it off onto his stomach, then keeps the hand there to hold Kent against him while he finishes himself, pulling back to come all over Kent's ass and the backs of his legs.

"Ugh," Kent complains, when Snowy pets his hair and gets Kent's own come in it, largely by accident, but he stays still, just ducking his head a little like he's trying to get further under Snowy's hand. His breathing is evening out into something long and calm. Protesting noises aside, he doesn't seem to actually care that he's a mess, sticky with his own come and Snowy's. Snowy had meant for them to fall asleep right after, but now they'll have to clean up at least a little, and maybe toss a new sheet over the bed, or they'll wake up gross and uncomfortable.

"Come on," Snowy tells him, when Kent doesn't seem inclined to move on his own. "Quick rinse in and out before that cat comes back and sticks to you."

Kent laughs quietly, and takes that as permission to move, because he turns over right after Snowy says it to stick himself to Snowy instead, even hotter and grosser than before. "You did really good," Snowy tells him, and this time gets to see Kent respond, mouth turning downward in a small frown like he doesn't believe it, but his eyes softening with pleasure. Such a soft fucking touch under the bravado. Easy to please and easy to hurt.

"That cat," Kent echoes huffily, sounding offended but tucking his head against Snowy's shoulder instead of pulling away to go clean up. "She's got more Instagram followers than both of us, you know."

Snowy gives him a push away, to get him out of bed. Kent resists it. "In that case," Snowy says, giving up and putting an arm around him, deciding to give him a couple more minutes to recover before he tries again, "you're lucky she keeps you around."


End file.
